Peregrin Took andthe Case ofthe Popping Ringbearer
by Frodo Silverlune
Summary: Pippin narrates: 'The day began with such promise, and now I sigh, for my scarf is in the hands of that malicious cousin of mine and I still haven't regained the upper hand...'


**Peregrin Took and the Case of the Popping Ringbearer**

by FrodoBaggins87

Good, clean, G-rated humor...enjoy

* * *

The day began with such promise, and now I sigh, for my scarf is in the paws of that malicious cousin of mine and I still haven't regained the upper hand. How glad I was in the morning when Frodo began humming a little tune around the camp and even asked for seconds on breakfast. I began to think he might be finding some relief from the ever-present pain he seems to be enduring, but I should have known. One would think with all the experience of my twenty-eight years I should recognize mischief when it dances across Frodo's eyes, but perhaps it is myself who has been blinded by the hardships of our journey. I do not see as innocently as I used to, but I suppose I was meant to mature at this time and no other, so I do not find regret in my loss.

But anyways, I was speaking of this morning, when Frodo unexpectedly turned jovial and, unfortunately, rather perky. I cannot say whether Sam or Merry saw it coming, nor any other member of the Fellowship, but it hit as a summer storm strikes unexpectedly and left a refreshing scent in the rather gloomy atmosphere. I am speaking of the air that seems to pulsate from the Ringbearer to resonate around the entire group. We are, after all, here for Frodo, to support and guide him, thus our Fellowship is knit around his particular state of being: up to now a dreading despair and stifling urgency.

Ah yes. Our march began as usual, with Gandalf leading followed by Gimli and Frodo, then myself and Legolas. Boromir, Merry and Sam hiked behind while Strider, I mean Aragorn, guarded our rear. 'Twas nothing unusual, until I realized Frodo was no longer in front of me. I had been admiring the endless ridge of mountains ringing our path, and not quite attentive to the immediate ground beneath me, with my 'head in the clouds,' as the saying goes. Therefore, in the instant I heeded my cousin's absence I nearly jumped out of my skin when a bright POP snapped in my left ear.

The only unsurprised fellow traveler at my loud outburst of shock was Frodo, who, doubled over in laughter doubtless at the reaction his prank had pulled, was too busy mocking me to fix a look of confusion or reprimand on his face.

"Frodo, that was not funny," I frowned, and he instantly sobered.

"I'm terribly sorry, Pip...Pip PIN," he snorted and buried his face in the folds of his cloak in a futile attempt to stifle his laughter. I glanced in bewilderment at Sam, and at Merry, but they both shrugged and appeared as dumfounded as I. Everyone else's faces were steeled in a blank expression, but as we resumed our march I thought I caught a slight incredulous shake of the head as Gandalf resumed his position.

We were hiking the hills, trudging along a ridge lower than the surrounding peaks. Mountains engulfed us, and I was, I still am in fact, quite at a loss as to where we are. The vegetation is not extraordinary: thin bushes, dry grass, and the occasional stunted tree. Therefore I was left to admiring the distant scenery or to my own devices of entertainment, until a POP snapped in my ear. I involuntarily yelped in surprise, and once under control, glared at my raucous cousin.

"Frodo!" I exclaimed in annoyance, not particularly relishing being the object of amused attention the second time today, for the same cause. This time he didn't bother trying to conceal his mockery.

"I got you again!" he teased childishly, eyes dancing. "You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Pippin. You never know what might sneak up on you!"

I rolled my eyes and plodded on ahead. Gandalf hadn't stopped the march this time, and our brief session had caused a small back-up for the rear marchers, which was quickly straightened as our procession progressed.

'_Silly hobbit,'_ I grumbled to myself. _'But at least he isn't downcast and withdrawn. I hope the change lasts. It's far better than moping and brooding about the camp as though the world were ending...'_

POP!

"Frodo!"

"Sorry Pip." Laughter clearly betrayed any hint of apology. I sighed, meeting a curious glance from Legolas with helpless bewilderment. I indignantly turned to my chuckling cousin and moved behind him, placing my hands on his shoulders and firmly steering him to walk in front of me.

"Oh, Pippin, it's just a bit of fun!" Frodo protested over his shoulder.

"Hmph," I snorted unforgiving. Three times in a row could not go unanswered, and I began racking my brain for a way to devise a retaliation. Out in the wilderness ones prank-playing supplies were limited, but not to the creative. I only needs contrive a means to work with my resources: the items in my pack, those in nature, and any I might borrow from Merry...

"AHH!" My hands flew to my head and were instantly met with cold, scaly skin. "UGH! Get it off!" I shrieked, thrashing my fingers through my hair and shaking my head franticly over the ground.

"Pippin! What is it?!" Merry was instantly at my side, just in time to watch a lizard fall from my hair and streak for cover off the path.

"What is this nonsense?" Gandalf demanded gruffly, and I triumphantly pointed a shaking finger at Frodo.

"HE did it," I proclaimed. "He's been teasing me all morning!"

"Pippin, listen to yourself!" exclaimed Frodo in an injured tone. "You sound like a young lad caught helping a cousin rob the cookie jar. I was in front of you the entire time."

Gandalf only raised a bushy eyebrow, quite at a loss as to the altered demeanor of the Ringbearer.

"Frodo, that will do," he finally said, and resumed his place at the head of the line.

The minute his back was turned I lunged at my cousin.

"That was _not_ funny, Frodo," I said angrily. "I hate snakes, or lizards, or any nasty scaly thing. What if I screamed and gave us away?"

Frodo waved his hand nonchantly.

"You don't scream," he said. "Squeal, maybe. Shriek. Cry. Wail. But not scream."

"I do _not_ cry!" I protested indignantly, temper rising. How _dare_ he say I cry?

"Yes you do," he said with a grin. "Do you remember the time last year when I wouldn't allow you to come to the Green Dragon for my birthday because you were too young to drink, and you cried because you had to stay at Bag End and tend your sister?"

Furious at the ridicule I was receiving from my own cousin, I clenched my fists and growled.

"If you weren't so important I'd take you on _now_," I said dangerously, daring him to humiliate me further. A smirk twitched at the corner of Frodo's mouth, and he shrugged off his pack.

"Cry-baby," he taunted. I had had enough, and throwing aside my own burden, I sprang forwards with a roar.

I grabbed him about the middle and we hit the dirt with a thud, rolling over and over in the grass each trying to pin the other to the ground. I dimly heard the cries of caution before we were suddenly thrust over the rim of the hill and began rolling uncontrollably down an embankment. Thankfully our flight was a short one and we came to a stop in a small grassy area. But I hardly had time to pay attention to the scenery, for Frodo was quickly gaining the upper hand. He tore the scarf from my neck and jumped back, holding it tauntingly above his head.

I had forgotten what fun it was to wrestle, especially with Frodo. Now with pure exhilaration surging through me in light-headed rushes of joy, I tackled him again and we fell among the grass. In no time he had me pinned beneath him and was tickling my ribs in earnest.

"No! No, Frodo, not there!" I gasped, breathlessly squirming beneath his unrelenting hold. He _was_ strong, as the elves had said in Rivendell, yet I had forgotten his iron grip on my left hand as he tickled with his free hand. My scarf was draped about his neck, yet I was too weak with laughter to attempt to reach it. It was after all his prize for winning.

"Please stop!" I begged.

"Why?" he said, eyes twinkling with laughter, face aglow with happiness.

"Because....because..."

He tickled harder. My sides were aching. I couldn't endure much more. Suddenly something caught my eye.

"For mushrooms?" I asked, and he instantly jumped up, leaving me panting on the ground.

"Where?" he asked, greedily scanning the surrounding terrain. If there was anything that could bribe my cousin, it was mushrooms. He had an infallible sense for them, and sure enough, within seconds he had pounced on his prey lingering beneath the shadow of a rotting fallen tree trunk. By the time I had recovered enough to stagger over to his hunched form, he had filled his pockets with small, white mushrooms and was busy delicately rolling up the larger ones in my scarf. His raiding was evitable by the many tiny patches of dark upturned earth scattered amongst a thick accumulation of deadened leaves. Not a mushroom remained when he rose from the spot, cradling his findings as precociously as a newborn babe.

"Frodo! Pippin!" I glanced up to the top of the bank to the seven curious faces staring down at us. "Are you hurt?"

"No, Merry, we're fine," I answered, "and we found mushrooms!"

"_I_ found the mushrooms," Frodo corrected.

"What are you waiting for? Bring them up!"

* * *

How does Sam _do_ it? Every single member of the Fellowship tried their hand at convincing Frodo to save the mushrooms until supper time, yet not a single one could raise him from his seat nor keep him from carefully eating one mushroom at a time, seemingly deaf to our ministrations.

Yet all Sam said was

"I'll cook them for you later, sir, if they ain't all gone by then," and Frodo quickly relinquished most of the remaining supply into his faithful friend's hands and asked us why we were not marching.

Thus we come to the present. I am sitting wistfully in front of the campfire, the lingering taste of my one and only fried mushroom souring in my mouth. How greedy my cousin is! How selfish to grudgingly allow eight of his precious mushrooms to find their way into eight taste-testers' mouths. I never shall understand my cousin, who still has my scarf entwined about his neck, but who will? He is, after all, an odd Baggins, and tomorrow he will most likely have retreated into his former despairing self. Yet I can always count on Gandalf to shake his head and grumble from the corner of his mouth

"Hobbits."

* * *

**End**


End file.
